Projection
by wickeds
Summary: Projections aren't supposed to interact with the dreamer, are they?  Arthur/Ariadne


The city was alive.

Ariadne stood as completely still as she could, allowing the busy cars and pedestrians and lights blur around her in a flurry of activity. The motion caused her hair to fly around her face, the loose strands brushing her cheeks in a ticklish manner. She closed her eyes. Took in the smells of this city, of the stately stone buildings, the asphalt streets, the peddlers on the sidewalks, the litter in the gutters. Heard the cars whizzing by, the people mumbling rude things, the noisy birds up above. Tasted the city slime. Felt the vortex of air swirling around her. She felt the city, felt where everything was. She knew this city like the back of her hand. Not because she had lived here for a very long time, or because she had studied a map for hours upon hours upon hours, but because she had designed it herself. She felt the multiple stories of the skyscrapers, the dividing lines between neighborhoods. She felt the pulse of the city, many people breathing as one. Opening her eyes, Ariadne parted the madness like Moses parted the Red Sea and walked through.

She found the café without looking for it. She couldn't remember how she got there. She remembered the sidewalk, parting the crowd, but after that it was blank until this moment, right outside the fence separating the café from the rest of the world.

She walked in through the gate, some pull causing her to reach for the latch, undo it, and go through. She sat at a table situated under a willow tree, the branches hanging so low they almost brushed the table. The shade was nice, the dappled light touching the napkin holder and salt and pepper shakers with the delicateness of those dainty tea sandwiches and water crackers you would see at a tea party. She looked around, taking in the sight. The city seemed to have changed from the busy downtown neighborhood to the quiet, slower hipster neighborhood. Ariadne didn't mind, though. It was nice, really quite lovely. A breeze started, and she shivered. It would be nice if she had–

"Need a sweater?" A hand popped into view with a dark purple cardigan with big white buttons in its grasp. Ariadne's eyes tentatively moved up to take in Arthur standing a few feet from her, dressed in his usual slacks-and-tie ensemble, a kind smile crinkling his face.

Ariadne was slightly taken aback. What the hell was Arthur doing here? She remembered then that he was just a Projection from her subconscious. But then, when had a Projection ever interacted with her? Aside from the Fischer inception, of course. But those Projections had been trained, expecting someone to come in and attack. Ariadne's mind – she was simply dreaming, practicing designing better mazes, more confusing layouts. Sheepishly she realized she'd just been walking around, enjoying the sights of this imaginary city she'd created out of nothing.

Projection-Arthur snapped her out of this internal discussion by saying, "You gonna let me hold this sweater out to you forever or are you going to grab it?"

Slightly flushed, she hesitantly took the cardigan, saying, "It's a cardigan, not a sweater."

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever. It's long-sleeved and keeps you warm. It's a sweater." Quickly he smiled to show her he really wasn't irritated. "Mind if I sit down with you?"

"Oh, uh, go ahead." She motioned for him to sit, a little unsettled that this Projection was talking to her and asking to sit down for a chat. Maybe she should ask Cobb or the real Arthur or someone about that when she woke up.

"So," he said, crossing his legs and wrapping his hands around the bent knee, an interested, slightly clinical look on his face, his dark eyes twinkling. "Why is it that you made this café in the middle of a farm?"

"It's not..." Ariadne looked around, surprised and a little startled to find that the quiet uptown city street had morphed into green pastures with clumps and clusters of wildflowers sticking out here and there, a cow or two grazing in the distance. "Oh."

He laughed short, just a soft bark. "You can't even keep track of when you're changing things. What kind of architect makes that happen?"

"One with extreme raw power," she countered a little too fast, almost childishly.

"Well." He scooted a bit closer to her so they weren't facing each other from across the table anymore. "I'll just have to take your word for it."

"You really don't need to–" But Arthur just kept looking at her intently, a smart glimmer lapping languidly at the edges of his espresso-dark irises, rendering her nearly speechless. "You... what..." She couldn't tear her eyes away from his.

"Ariadne." He scooted even closer so that they were now sitting next to each other, her dark jeans brushing against his black slacks. She looked at their legs, so close together, how her slender thigh seemed to fit nicely against his thicker, yet still thin, leg. His fingers caught her chin, tilting her head back so they could meet eye to dark eye.

"Yeah– Wait." She leaned back, shook her head. "You're just a Projection. You shouldn't be doing this, interacting with me. If you do anything, it should be staring."

He laughed. "You're just dreaming right now. No one's with you to mess with your subconscious. Everything's fine here. No intruders. Just you and your subconscious."

"And why would a Projection say this to me?" she asked dubiously.

"What's a Projection?" he asked innocently, with a hind of curiosity.

"It's... never mind." She shook her head again. "So, if this is just a dream, then..." She leaned into him, breathing in his scent of clean clothes and aftershave. She felt him stiffen, then relax, draping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her closer. He kissed the top of her head very softly, tenderly, lightly. She smiled, just a little.

"Then?" His lips made her scalp tingle.

"I don't know," she mumbled. "I'm really confused at the moment."

He pulled away. "About what?"

"Just..." She felt sort of cold now that he was leaning away from her. "I don't understand how this is happening."

"It's your subconscious. It's getting the notion that you want this, so here I am. You're fairly new to the game; you'll get the hang of it eventually, I'm sure."

"But how can my subconscious know this when I don't even understand _why_?" she asked exasperatedly.

"I don't know. I think it's because your subconscious knows more about you than you do." He paused for a moment, mulling over that statement. "And just because it's a dream doesn't mean it's not true," he added as an afterthought. He took her hand and traced the lines on her palm. "Just because it's a dream doesn't mean that... that you, you know..."

"That I like you?"

But he never responded. Instead he just leaned into her again, his lips coming against hers, moving against hers, tasting really, really nice. They were soft kisses, light kisses, delicate, tentative, question mark kisses. His arms somehow managed to snake around her, and as they leaned back she tried to remember how she got here, to this café, in Arthur's arms, kissing him. But she couldn't. She couldn't remember anything but kissing Arthur. And it was nice. Really, really nice. Something in the pit of her stomach stirred, like something was waking up slowly, from a long, long sleep. It felt vague, slightly confused, and blissfully lovely.

She felt the kick before she was ready.

Everything happened so fast. Before she realized just how long the music had been playing while she was feeling giddy over this Projection of Arthur, Ariadne watched as he stood up, his face lined with intense worry as she tipped back. As the world rushed around her, tipping back and rushing forward and spinning uncontrollably, Arthur remained the one point of reference that stayed stolidly firm on the ground, which was weird for a Projection. Usually they disappeared once the kick was felt, yet here was Arthur, shouting to her that it would be okay, she'll be fine. But Ariadne already knew that. Arthur should know that. Wait, scratch that; _Projection_Arthur should know that.

She woke up with a start breathing heavily, a sheen of sweat covering the back of her neck and her forehead, her heart thrumming in her ears, her stomach twisting, blood pounding in her veins. None of the usual effects from the kick, but she assumed it was due to the fact that she hadn't prepared herself, just like the time Mal killed her in Dom's dream. She hadn't been ready for that either. She looked around the cool room crazily, looking for the real Arthur, to see if he was around, if he was looking at her.

But why should she care if Arthur was around? It's not like she had been talking to the real Arthur; he was just a Projection from her subconscious. A really nice, really friendly Projection. Ariadne closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and exhaling through her nose. She remained completely still as her body calmed down. She felt her heartbeat slow, her stomach quit twisting, her skin drying. She felt–

"Ariadne? You okay?"

Someone prodded her side. It was Arthur, his voice curt and clinical. She scrunched her eyes shut, a scowl quickly forming on her delicate face. There was no way that dream had meant anything.

"Hey, you can at least acknowledge me or something. Let me know you're not a vegetable or in limbo or anything."

_It__was__just__practice_, Ariadne thought miserably. _Just__practicing__being__the__architect.__Designing__the__maze.__Nothing__real__or__meaningful__or__anything._

A sharper jab was instigated. "Hey," he said sharply. "If you're really awake and just letting me make an ass outta myself I'm gonna get real pissed."

This piqued her interest. _Let__'__s__see__what__'__ll__happen.__Bring__it,__bitch._Innocently she sighed in her sleep, lolling her head a bit and curling her fingers. She heard a sigh, some scratching, all followed by some irritated mumbling. It took all her self control to keep herself from letting the corners of her mouth curving up slightly. Some movement sounded, clothes rustling, a hand nervously rubbing recently shaved jawline. That was one thing Ariadne liked a lot about Arthur; he was always so clean-shaven, so nicely-dressed in his adorable ties and suits. And the ears that stuck out and the way his hair was always styled–

A pair of hands came to rest beside her head. Ariadne stiffened, suddenly very aware of the fact that Arthur was a mere two feet away from her, leaning over her, his breath faintly stirring the wispy strands of hair that lay stuck to her cheeks near her lips, lightly tickling her skin. "Hey. Ariadne." She felt him lean closer, his warm breath now moving the strands of hair around her face. It was so hard to keep her hand still, to let them stay there and drive her crazy. Leaning even closer so that his face was a few inches from hers, he whispered, "Did that kick get you, or did you fall into limbo?" He leaned closer, his lips practically brushing her own.

Every single cell in her body felt absolutely, electrically alive.

"Ariadne." Just the faintest ghost of a kiss made her stomach burn. "Wake up." And she couldn't take it anymore. Quickly, before he could react, Ariadne tilted her chin so her lips were flush with his, her hand quickly moving to catch the back of his neck before he could jerk away. The kiss went on for what felt like hours, yet it seemed too soon when he pulled back fast, his dark eyes warily watching her, his mouth hanging open, his breathing quickened. Ariadne sat up slowly, her eyes never leaving his. "Hey, sleepy head," he said somewhat dryly, his voice wobbling a bit.

"That was you in the dream, at the café," she said without preamble. "You shared it with me. It wasn't a Projection, like I thought it was."

He smiled halfway wistfully, a flirtatious smirk quickly replacing it. "You thought I was faking being a Projection?"

"It wasn't obvious?"

He shook his head. "Ariadne, I never shared a dream with you. Yeah, I was in here when you rode the kick, but that was it. I was just making sure you got out safely, is all."

She looked down at her lap, embarrassed somewhat. "Oh."

"But you know what?"

She returned her gaze to his warm, twinkly dark eyes. "What?"

"I'd be interested in knowing what Projection Me did."

She scoffed, her stomach falling slightly in disappointment. But she wouldn't let him know that. "I'll never tell you," she said, smiling slightly.

"Lemme kiss you again," he said abrubtly

She scoffed. "Like you'll trick me into that again."

His smirk turned into a dark smile. "You sure about that?"

"I'm sure that I'll kick your ass if this keeps up with you."

"Really?" He quirked an eyebrow. "'Cause if you do that then I'll– "

The door opened, Eames coming in. He looked around, taking in Ariadne half sitting in her chair and Arthur standing warily, saying, "Is this a bad time for me to come in?"

Arthur scowled, his wary stance sinking into a belligerent slouch. "You have impeccable timing, you know that, Eames?"

He smirked, a knowing look washing over his face. "I'll just leave you two to it, then." And he shut the door.

Arthur turned his attention back to Ariadne, who cleared her throat. "Cobb can't know about this," she said suddenly.

"Why?" She almost noticed the slightly wounded, hopeless, almost exasperated look cross his face. Almost.

"He won't like that he has co-workers who like each other."

"We _like__each__other_? Is that what this is?" He quirked an eyebrow.

"No, it's... it's..." She looked down, around the room, anywhere but at him.

"It's what?" When she looked up at him, he had this weird look on his face. Almost uncomfortable.

"It's nothing. We just kissed, right? You... you were trying to wake me up." When he didn't answer, she said, "Right?"

"Yeah. Right."

Tentatively, she stood up and crossed the room to him, leaned into him. He smelled lovely, of aftershave and soap and clean cotton and just a hint of cologne. The expensive kind, Armani or something, not that cheap stuff you get for half off at Walmart or whatever. She felt his hand reach her chin, tilting her head so his lips could touch hers. Slowly, steadily, they kissed, her hands snaking up and wrapping around his neck, her fingers twining through his strangely mussed-up hair. It was always so smooth, put-together, slicked back. _Hm..._ They finally broke apart when yet again the door opened, Eames poking his head in, the two of them jumping apart as if they'd been shocked.

"Oh, don't mind me, I'm just checking in to make sure you two are behaving," said Eames with a smirk, and before Arthur or Ariadne could respond, he closed the door again, his open laughter coming through the wood muffled.

Ariadne and Arthur looked at each other, the heat of the moment quickly and rapidly dying. She turned away, grabbed her bag, and walked to the door, but not before hearing Arthur mumble something very rude about Eames. It wasn't until much later, when she saw Arthur scratching the inside of his wrist in the workroom that she smiled as she noticed the bright red pinprick of a mark the injection piston had left behind.


End file.
